


Caught

by Eva



Series: Here there be monsters. [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva/pseuds/Eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade has actually survived the life he lives for four decades and change.  That should have told Mycroft something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught

*********

When the door shut, Greg moved. Twisted, straddled Mycroft, hands at his jaw in the same way he had held Greg so many times. Ignored the prickling heat in his own eyes and stared into Mycroft’s, cool and blue.

“Help me,” he said, hands sliding up into Mycroft’s hair.

Hands on his back, on his hip. “Gregory.”

“I gave myself to you.” Greg kissed him, sucked at his tongue and made a soft, broken sound when Mycroft turned away. “Please, give me back to me.”

Gentle kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “Gregory, I never accepted.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Greg sat up, almost hitting his head on the car’s ceiling. Stared down at Mycroft, still blinking back tears of rage and fear. “I said it. I offered.”

“You asked,” Mycroft corrected, hands smoothing along Greg’s arms. “I never answered.”

“Then do it!” Greg ordered, tightening his grip. A tear did get free, a trail of saltwater down the side of his nose. “Say it.”

“I wanted to give you a chance to recant,” Mycroft said. He wiped the tear from Greg’s face without flinching. Two more fell.

“I want you to answer me,” Greg said, almost growled. He curled closer, his forehead resting against Mycroft’s. His tears fell onto Mycroft’s face and still he didn’t flinch. “Say what you like; I want to hear it.”

“Whatever I like?” Mycroft whispered. They were too close to focus on each other. Greg couldn’t see through the blur anyway.

“You won’t deny me.” Greg smiled, and closed his eyes. Kissed Mycroft again, just a press of lips, a slight, shared breath. “You don’t dare let me go.”

Mycroft’s arms were around him, holding him close. Greg shuddered in his grip, cold easing in around him. He’d already offered. He’d already given.

Never so gentle or so cruel. “I want you to recant.”

“Am I broken now?” Greg demanded. “Used goods? Not worth it?” He was caught in a sudden, wrenching sob, and hid his face against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Please,” Mycroft whispered, and kissed his ear. Greg shuddered again, his whole body trembling.

“Not yours, never yours, only mine,” he gasped out. Mycroft shifted, pushed him down on the seat, cradling his skull. Protecting him. Lay atop him and kissed him until Greg couldn’t catch his breath to speak or cry.

“I’ll earn your surrender on my own merits, thank you very much,” he whispered.

*********

They went to Greg’s flat, and the woman--Anthea, Mycroft told him, and human--took a shopping list from Mycroft and drove off again. Greg put the kettle on and went to wash his face.

Mycroft lounged in the bathroom doorway. “From its abilities, I judge it to be old. Old ones are often more imaginative, though less active.”

“This one’s active,” Greg said. His tone accusatory. “First Jeanna, now me.”

“This one’s strange.” Mycroft sighed. “It didn’t care about Jeanna.”

He gripped the sink hard. “Only enough to murder her.”

“It didn’t care if it caught her or killed her, and death was her choice.” Mycroft was staring at Greg’s hands. “It won’t offer the same to you.”

“It did at first.” Eyes, hands, heart. Greg blotted his face dry with a towel, twin to the one draped over the mirror.

“It was lying.” Mycroft’s hand trailed through Greg’s hair. “You’ve had thirty more years of experience than her. You’re ridiculously beautiful. It wouldn’t kill you; it couldn’t.”

“Rather than let you have me?” Greg asked. Watched Mycroft tense.

The kettle began to whistle and Mycroft was gone, but not gone; Greg could hear his tread in the hall. Heard the kettle moved. He didn’t think he could stand to be alone right now.

It wasn’t an imaginative tactic. They all worked in the same way. Wear away at the bits of normalcy until the human cracked, one way or the other. Greg had never felt so close to cracking before.

Water ran down the curved edge of the sink, winked before sliding into the drain.

Just give into it. Just give in.

He was fairly sure he hated Mycroft Holmes. Enough to go on ahead.

*********

Facing him over a cup of tea.

Greg watched him turn the mug, cupping it in both hands. Slow purse of his lips, breath to gentle breeze. “Why are you here?”

Mycroft didn’t look up. “I thought you’d prefer company.”

He was sitting at the table as if it were his own, comfortable and at ease. Greg wanted to smash the kettle over his head, grab his tie and yank him to his feet, start a fight. Tension coiled in his muscles and Mycroft was watching him now, carefully.

“I’d prefer the company of someone who wants to be around me,” Greg said, the words clipped, bitten off.

“If I didn’t--”

Greg grabbed his tie, yanked him upright. It was easy because Mycroft was expecting it. Stood readily.

“How much did not wanting to confront that thing over me come into play in your decision to let me recant?” he asked, inches from Mycroft’s face, watching every shift and twitch.

“I didn’t let you,” Mycroft said, curled his hands over Greg’s elbows. “I forced you.”

“You think you know what I want to hear from you now,” Greg said, and smiled without humour. He pulled Mycroft closer and breathed into his ear. “Don’t confuse your wants with mine. Or its.”

The room was colder, and Greg felt tension draining from his muscles, his body becoming weak. He swayed on his feet. “No--”

“You didn’t think at all that I’d let you die,” Mycroft said, anger turning his tone jagged. “Stolen can be stolen back. You don’t listen, Gregory. I don’t expect you to trust me; I don’t want you to trust me. I don’t trust myself.”

He leaned heavily on Mycroft, still holding onto his tie. Barely. “You don’t want me to test you.”

“I don’t want to fail!” The admission was like lightning, sharp and shocking, the scent of ozone. Greg breathed it in. Found it wonderful.

“Give me myself back,” he said. Pressed his lips to Mycroft’s throat; found his pulse. Imagine, Mycroft Holmes having a pulse. Ozone and cold, clean air. “You can find a way.”

“You’re asking more than you know.”

“Does my mum remember my name?” His skin was warmer, where Greg breathed on it. Almost pink. Almost human. “I’m not asking you, Mycroft. Give me myself back, or take what’s left. Or be left with nothing.” He kissed his throat again, tender. “You’re the only card I have left to play.”

Mycroft sighed. The sound of it filled Greg’s ears: sand run out, the last gasp of a storm. Defeat.

“Caught you,” he whispered, and smiled.

*********

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please feel free to ask me questions, either here or at Tumblr! I'm trying to explain things as I go, but I know it's a confusing story.


End file.
